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Archive for the ‘Pretty Lies’ Category

Hey, here’s a great idea! Let’s destroy the cultural continuity, interpersonal trust level, institutional competence and transparency, and social fabric of our nation for a taquito food truck! Recipe? What’s that?

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I can’t think of a stupider or more banally treasonous political philosophy than Ethnic Foodism. Our enemies are ridiculous. Only the media sustains this clown world, and their hold over the gooniversalism narrative is rapidly loosening.

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Women are being misled by the Globohomo Mendacity Machine and Grrlpower Cuntsortium into delusions about the time left on their fertility clocks. From reader TLM,

There is one career girl that really stood out to me. She was close to 40, or early 40’s, and having a myomectomy done (Her uterus was full of fibroids-round hard benign tumors). She had so many that the doc was having a tough time getting them all out. The surgeon is a fertility specialist I knew well enough to ask, “Why didn’t you just schedule her for a hysterectomy”, which would be standard for a case like this with the patient’s age, condition, etc. Doc says patient, a childless unmarried business woman, still hopes to conceive a child some day. Talk about wishful thinking. No way her post-surgery Frankenstein uterus is in any condition, at her age, to provide a safe environment for a baby.

In the end, the God of Biomechanics wins. The genes of these sex difference denialist careerist shrikes will fade from the helical strand of humanity. They will be replaced by more feminine, nurturing women who love babies and love having them at a young age. The hard-charging, leaning in, credentialist whore megabitches who blow their prime fertility windows on bed hopping and grad school genderqueer studies degrees are not long for this world. Nature doesn’t long tolerate deviants to the Prime Directive. A cleansing is coming, one way or another.

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A comment by Greg Eliot (a longtime valued contributor to this fappy forum) spurred me to write a bit about tradcons and their discomfort with female sexuality. He wrote,

CH: And, yes, seducing and fucking a cute girl on the same night you meet her [is one of a man’s greatest pleasures in life].

Especially when she’s “never done this with anyone else”.

:DUCKFACE

Get real, gentlemen… any girl who bangs on the first date is more a petrie dish than LTR material.

And if you’re out looking for a quick bang… and not a woman who you’d trust as a mother to your children and a true helpmeet, then you’re just a muh-dik no-account who deserves whatever physical and/or emotional ailments you get from those types of women.

And this is why we lose.

This world ain’t no Ian Flemming novel, and you ain’t no James Bond.

I’m not saying Greg is a tradcon, but his comment is emblematic of so many tradcon howls of spite for men who have a way with women and for the women who let those men have their way. So his idburst gives me a springboard to write a rebuttal I’ve been meaning to for a while addressing the typical smears that tradcons keep in their rhetoric rucksack.

I’m not talking about marrying one night stands. Sure, a man should think twice about wifing up a girl he plowed the same night she twatted him a come hither eyeplay twitter. But there’s room in a man’s life for one night stands as well as for marriage, should he decide nuptial chains slip easily on his scrote. The one does not preclude the other. In fact, I’d argue a man is best positioned to choose a bride-to-be if he has some experience dealing with women’s emotional landscape both before and after sex. The best defense is a good offense.

To my points.

  1. Not every girl who has premarital sex is a slut. If that’s the standard for sluttery, you may as well give up finding a wife in the world we inhabit right now.
  2. Experienced men have a honed sense of which girls are slutty and which are chaste. It’s not that hard to know if a one night stand is a cock carousel veteran or an innocent naif caught up for the first or second time in her life in the heat of the moment (generated by your superb seductive prowess, of course). So just saying you’ve had a one night stand is not incontrovertible evidence that you banged a slut.
  3. The petrie dish metaphor is indicative of a favorite myth of tradcons that cutie patootie sluts sleep with any man who will have them. No, that would be fatties and Wall-imminent cougars. Prime nubility sluts are just as discriminating as damsels; that is, sluts prefer the company of the same alpha males who inspire a quaking of the mons in damsels. Beta males are still left out in the cold. Which means you are gonna need skillz to bang sluts, and perhaps even sharper skillz than you would need to bang damsels considering that sluts are masters of shit testing. The difference between sluts and damsels is one of impulsivity and to a lesser extent of quantity. Sluts jump into bed quicker and make more rounds sharing the tiny pool of acceptable alpha males.
  4. If you are dominant and sexy and charming as fuck, you can make any girl LTR material. It may be a more efficient use of your time and energy to screen for LTR material from the get-go if that’s your quest, but even the sluts will bend the knees to a man of incomparable HSMV.
  5. Whether mounting slut or damsel, one night stands will make a man feel like a king, as long as his conquest is a verifiable hottie. If he has a ONS with a grotesquerie, he will experience the Walk of Self-Abasement and avoid looking any women in the eyes for a month lest they sense the tunastank on him.
  6. Addendum to #5: Any man with a robust ledger of cuntquests to his name will know very early on in the evening if the girl he is seducing is a no muss no fuss slut or a hard-to-whet modest mouse. This means that really good players often deliberately seek out more challenging girls because they know that the afterglow of despoiling a low cock count coygirl shines so much brighter than it would emptied into the dark ravine of a slut’s war-torn womb. Be careful tradcons; that womanizer you accuse of banging bar skanks may be the one who cut his ONS chops on your tradwife before she lost her taste for fun and met you.

On a conciliatory note, Greg and his genre of female sexuality spiters aren’t totally off-base about the slut life. While not a guarantee of a girl’s sluttery, a predilection for one night stands is a leading indicator. And though it’s hard to find chaste women in 2017 (as measured against historical chasteness standards), it nevertheless remains true that even one additional partner over the bare minimum greatly increases a women’s risk of marital infidelity. Therefore, all things considered and all nuts busted, tradcons have their hearts in the right place when they advise men looking for wife and mother candidates to be wary of investing in a property that is trespassed without a preliminary scouting expedition.

Bottom line: If you fall in love with a ONS, and forever dangles on the edge of your dreamy thoughts, best give that gril a few extra months or years of up close premarital personal assessment. If she’s truly a natural born slut, you’ll see the signs long before she hears the wedding lines.

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A big pet peeve of mine is the smugness of our current elites. They’re all hubris, no perspective. Giant walking talking egos which must constantly feed or deflate instantly with the tiniest puncture to the moral, lifestyle and credentialati bubbles they live in.

They haven’t just abandoned noblesse oblige, they’ve trashed it and replaced it with its evil twin noblesse malice. Whatever tenuous organic and emotional connection the American ruling class had to the nation which they deign to lead is now totally severed. They act more like usurpers than as sons and daughters of the land.

And our elite buttress their entitlement and vanity with the requisite empty rhetoric deployed with no other purpose than to shut down criticism of their rule. Take Paul Ryantifa. FOR ONCE, I’d like to hear a reporter ask CuckRyan what he means by “that’s not who we are”? Who are we, specifically, Mz. Ryan? Explain in clear English and with no recourse to tautologies that invoke killwords like racist and white supremacy. Push these fuckers against the wall with their own vapid rhetoric.

As a reader wrote, “you don’t get to tell us who we are…we tell you who we are.”

Our Globohomo rulers seem to think they are gods, dispensing wisdom and truths which are only accessible to them through divine sanction. “WE will tell you who you are, pleb!” It’s like thecunt hillary saying she wouldn’t give “absolution” to those voters who didn’t bother to vote for her, as if she is some earthbound deity before whom the rabble must bow, and from whom mercy, or divine judgment, flow unchallenged.

Gabber @AlCynic calls this mental invanity “autodeification”, and pins the causative factor in its infectious spread on postmodernism, or what I have termed Equalism.

Postmodernism has resulted in autodeification.
They think they are divine by their own hand.
It’s not an illusion, it’s not rhetoric.
It’s insanity, but true.

Pride cometh before the fall, and there’s no greater pride than thinking oneself arbiter of all that is holy and right and those who would oppose you as unholy and immoral deplorables. What happened, Hillary? What happened is you thought yourself a god among mere mortals, when you are nothing but a rancid psychopathic narcissistic cunt of the most foul self-entitlement pedigree. And now you have jumped the precipice, and to shield you from the abject humiliation you so karmally deserve and which you have spent a lifetime imposing on your enemies through cackles of sadistic glee, your morbidly obedient Bezosian lackeys assiduously scrub one star reviews from your book’s Amazon page.

But the tenor of the times have changed, thanks in part to outposts of TruthLove and HateUgly like this ‘umble web abode. See through you and your ilk, we do. The GodCunt has no pantsuit. We point and mock and soon, the people will see you and your priestess aristocrats for what you all are: nakedly self-serving spoiled rich brats hawking a Fake Morality for a Fake Religion called Globalism, aka the vanity project of greedy rootless deracinated wealth capturers.

Another reader writes, “Equalism should be attacked like the start-up religion that it is. All value is derived from inequality. If we are all totally equal we are all totally unnecessary.”

It really is a start-up religion. Equalism is the perfect un-truth for the globohomoists to proselytize, because it presupposes equal outcomes and that any difference in outcomes is the result of discrimination (by BadWhites). The GoodWhites who sit at the top of the human hierarchy cashing in on their inherited suite of cognitive traits that allows them to maximally exploit the currently operative environment governing human status wars bear the duty to enlighten the Noticers and, failing that, to ostracize and silence them. An amorphous and ill-defined enemy is identified (“fellow White people”), and the elite are inoculated from the threat of precision-targeted rage of the masses. Equalism allows the elite to have their cake and eat it.

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I’ve come to the conclusion that virtue sniveling anti-White shitlibs will never convert to Realtalk and Truthlove. It’s simple. Any moment in a shitlib’s life that she lets race-aware truth approach her obliquely, she’ll promptly retreat to some heartwarming pic or story of a single nonwhite behaving in accordance with societal White norms.

There will be plenty of these pics and stories for her to latch onto, not because there are plenty of nonWhites behaving in an exemplary (read: White) manner, but because the anti-White Gaystream Media is diligent about seeding their bird cage copy with a false impression of omnipresent numinous nonwhite feats of honor and basic decency (and equally diligent about seeding the false impression of omnipresent White treachery and ultraracism).

I call this the Reflexive Retreat to Pretty Lies, and it only takes a tiny dose of pretty lies to turn back a massive onslaught of Ugly Truths. There’s no way to permanently reorient shitlibs laboring under those precog conditions, because no matter how big your Truth, a bigger Lie will swamp it. There will always be some stray sappy pic or story that the shitlib can embrace like a Linus security blanket, to be used as an enchanted vestment against the torrent of unsentimental ugly truths that assault her senses from every direction every day of her hypocritical life.

You can’t convert such people, because there isn’t enough Truth in the world to cure them of their addiction to false narratives. If all it takes is one pic of a dead Syrian child (death caused by forces unrelated to White supremacy) to push a shitlib back into the comfort bubble of her open borders, welcome-refugees nonsense, then reams of data, appeals to logic and reason, gripping memes, and millions of counter-examples to the contrary will be impotent against the hardened bunker of her unreality. Her brain is incapable of any meaningful long-term adjustment in outlook and self-perception.

So what’s the solution to shitlib cocooning in the face of daunting Truth?

  • permit the fertility of the most pathologically altruist whites to drop to zero (this is the only option that will work permanently and decisively)
  • mockery. hammer libs relentlessly with the truth, packaged in such a way as to maximally overload their amygdalae until they voluntarily withdraw from public life
  • retake the institutions of media and thought control. good luck with that.
  • civil war (decisive, not as permanent as option #1, unless you salt the earth afterwards)
  • pray for Trump’s ultimate victory (and Javanka’s banishment from his trusted inner circle)
  • secession, separation, segregation. cordon off shitlibs in their own city-states away from sane Whites
  • enact whatever policies you can pass to diminish shitlib power to mold the media narrative
  • agree & amplify shitlib hostility to heritage america. relocate millions of feral dirt worlders into shitlib enclaves
  • build a parallel society, parallel tech, and parallel self-rule that effectively gerrymanders shitlibs into their own culture ghettoes
  • ban estrogenic endocrine disrupting compounds so that the T level of men and E level of women returns to a healthy base
  • sit poolside and enjoy the part of the ride where we have crested the final hill and are plummeting to the ninth circle of hell

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Platitudes are the curse of our times. The Pretty Lies are everywhere, and polluting the minds of our most vulnerable and emotionally fragile: single White women.

Here’s a revealing glimpse at one of the incantations performed during this Platitude Purification Protocol that single White women indulge to gain entry to the right-thinking GoodWhite World:

A morning zoo radio show had a discussion about the female orgasm and what women need to experience it. A chirpy White woman, quoting a glam mag article on the same topic, bubbled that women need trust to have an orgasm. The male hosts agreed, lending the skit an air of medicinal predictability.

This is a lie. As Overlord-pilled guests of the Chateau know, what women say and what they do are two very different things, especially in the realm of sex and romance. Women say: “I need to trust a man to relax enough and have an orgasm”. Women do: Have mattress-soaking orgasms with some bad boy who picked them up at a nightclub.

Women don’t need trust to have great sex. What women need is a psychologically dominant ZFG man who can arouse them to an autonomic orgasm.

Usually, when we restrict our range of options to women who are sexually unfulfilled, the men with whom these women have the most trouble having orgasms are the men women trust the most and know the longest: borefriends and hubbies.

tl;dr: Women say: “trust”. Women need: “alpha”. Trust is nice, but jerkboy is spice.

You want an uglier truth? Women’s orgasms may not be for women at all; they may exist to serve men.

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Many women, particularly single women of the slutty persuasion, take a perverse glee in recounting episodes of bad sex with a man. Some even like to challenge the alphalinity of a potential suitor by offering unsolicited stories of times in the past when they had endured bad sex, the unstated purpose being a sneaky desire to test the new man’s quickness or reluctance to assert that he is not one of those “bad sex guys”. (Sincerely answering this kind of probing question is a no-win situation; best reply is to tell her it takes two to tango.)

The femmesplaining and gloating by women cackling about bad sex is a rhetorical ego balm. The truth is that the bad sex theory, as a rule, is a misdiagnosis of the first cause: a bad stimulant. Women who complain about bad sex should look in the mirror. If you’re not very attractive, don’t expect the men who will have you to put much effort into pleasing you.

I’m sure there are isolated cases of men who for whatever reason are simply horrible in the sack. But it defies credulity that the world is overrun with bad sex bros; more likely is that very few men are banging their dream woman, and that this mismatch in the male hindbrain between bang reality and bang fantasy accounts for most of the bad sex complaints by the middle of the belle curve plain janes.

And the further down the female SMV hierarchy a man must tumblr to get laid, the less likely he is to feel the power of his Inner Jackhammer summoning him to feats of boudoir majesty.

This is the high unholies of ugly truths that sub-hottie poseur-thotties will never ever acknowledge (not that I blame them): that their romantic disappointment is a byproduct of their facial comportment.

Personally, I have noticed big differences in my enthusiasm with women who differ by as little as 1 point on the 1-10 female beauty scale. As a man of stealth and taste, Game and my accumulated experience with women have afforded me a lifestyle which precludes the necessity of dumpster diving for sustenance, however even a maester of the muff sometimes dates across instead of up, and heaven forfend even down a bit when the stars cross in cursed portent.

The occasional muse-less 5 or 6 has knelt at the Chateau pine shrine. From my perspective, at least, bad sex ensued, and I imagine they thought similarly though they kept that opinion to themselves. A perfunctory piston-efficient pumping, followed promptly by a snooze.

I can tell when I’ve delivered a sub-par performance because I know what heights of sexual abandon I’ve scaled when inspired to a great performance. The HB8s and yippie! 9s who’ve made the crimson-pillgrimage received the banging of their lives, all clitorises excited, all proclivities gratified, all G spots perused. Once, I broke my no-licky-the-sticky first month rule on a first date with a hard 9 whose pussy smelled of lavender. I went at her neatly trimmed bush like a tasmanian devil, gulping her aroma with the exuberance of a drowning victim piercing the surface for that precious breath of life. Anal? You betcha. Sweat? Through the sheets. Splattered juices? Like a crime scene. Bent over the kitchen counter, her head knocking into a cabinet as glassware rattled its orchestral approval? Oui oui, my mortal release. And did I kiss her deeply, passionately, longingly, as we met and pressed our flesh into one? It was required.

An older womanizer once told me that erectile dysfunction isn’t real if it can be cured by a younger, hotter, tighter woman. He was a mentor of sorts, and in his honor I remembered of him that old seducers never die, they just fade from the game.

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